by Diana Rubino
“Possibly. I cannot be seen in the same habiliments all the time.” I feared Alex would think he'd given me too much money. A destitute woman would not wear this quality of dress. “My present wardrobe is hardly adequate,” I admitted, but didn't tell Mrs. Graisbury that I was now in competition with Mrs. Hamilton—as well as other women who caught Alex's fancy. If he tired of me, he'd drop me like a rock. With this in mind, I purchased The Letters of Pliny at the old bookstore, more hair powder…and more perfume.
I returned home to James writing at his desk, an empty whisky bottle and half-eaten chicken leg at his elbow. Not my place to ask of his business, I helped myself to his leavings of bread and cheese from the sideboard and fetched the newspaper.
Quill scratched across paper as he penned his signature with a flourish, blotted the page and waved it through the air to dry.
I glimpsed the salutation and stiffened when my eye caught the “Secretary Hamilton.”
“Pray what are you writing to him, James?”
He seemed proud to oblige me as he puffed out his chest. “Ah'm requesting a meeting with the king of the Feds.”
“What do you expect to accomplish with a meeting?” I steadied my voice.
“Now that Secretary Hamilton is my wife's uh—liaison—he's capable of using his vast connections to assist me.” He smacked his lips.
Holding up his missive, he continued, “I informed him that I know some facts he may find interesting, personally as well as in his favor as Treasury Secretary. He knows I engage in speculation occasionally—”
“Occasionally?” I cut in. “If only!”
He ignored my remark. “And I believe I could give information about the conduct of some speculators in the department which he would find useful.”
“What speculators?” I placed my fists on my hips. “Who are you slanderizing now?”
“Tis no slander when true, and these persons' reputations are in the privy already,” he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “I divulged no names in the letter. I shall reveal names to Hamilton when we meet. What I know about these scoundrels' high jinks can prove helpful to him, if he can return the favor.”
“What favor?” I sneered. “You want to sleep with his wife?”
“Nay, she doon't give me a rise,” he replied, perfectly serious. “I hope to secure a position in the Treasury Department.”
I blinked in surprise. “You in the Treasury Department? You've never had a real job in your life.”
“But now ah'm in the position to bargain for one. Besides,” he added, “tis easier than hustling.” It sounded like an afterthought.
“But hustling is in your blood, James. You wouldn't last two minutes in a government job.” I brandished my most scornful smirk.
“And how many more minutes do you plan to last in his bed?” He sealed the letter and trotted out the door.
Weak with relief that he hadn't resorted to his blackmail scheme, I hoped this would render James a respectable citizen—as when he ran for the Continental Congress. Alex knew that James had worked in the Commissary Department with his father during the Revolution, supplying the army. Then last year, desperate for work, James hired himself out to Benjamin Chaffin, a New York merchant. They achieved national notoriety as speculators, raking the countryside to buy unwary veterans' back-pay certificates at deflated prices. James was brought up on criminal charges, but no convictions followed. I reckoned James must have information—more likely, dirt—that Alex could use on those speculators.
That night a knock sounded at the back door. Busy reading Wealth of Nations, what I now called “our” book, I dismissed it, but when it loudened to rapping, I went to investigate. No one used the back door but our servants, when we could afford them. I opened it and blinked in shock. A weary and disheveled Alex stood there, dark circles under his eyes, hair uncombed, coatless, shirtsleeves pushed past his elbows.
“Alex! Why the back door? Oh, I wish you'd warned me of this visit. I'd have washed, donned décolletage, and changed the sheets.” With a titter of delight I stepped back to let him in. “I—wasn't expecting you.” Giddy with joy, aroused already, I restrained myself from leaping into his arms.
“I need to speak with you, Maria.” His tone didn't sound inviting or romantic.
No! I wanted to cry out loud. My heart plummeted. Please don't end it! “Is that teasing letter of James's at the bottom of this?”
Oh, did I gulp in panic when he pulled it out and unfolded it before me!
He gave me a knowing smile. “I trust you're happily reconciled with James.”
“Not quite happily,” I shot back. “I doubt we'll stay together, now that he knows—”
He held up a hand. “You need not divulge the details. I received this letter from him, called for him this afternoon, and he arrived promptly.”
“I know he was anxious to see you, but I have not seen him since this morn. I've been reading our book.” Clutching his hand, I beckoned him inside and he followed. “I apologize if he was too forward in the letter. James can be brusque at times. Did your meeting accomplish aught?”
“Besides telling me that he and you had reconciled—and he knows of our liaison, and has no objections, but didn't mention another word on that subject—he offered me some information in exchange for a clerkship in the Treasury Department. He would work on the books and accounts of impost and tonnage and excise accounts. For five hundred a year. I agreed to his bargain.” He rubbed his eyes. “Because he and his father served in the Commissary during the war, I trust the credibility of James's insider information. And—because of you.” He tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear. I tingled but didn't dare invite him upstairs yet.
“Me?”
He opened his arms and I stepped into his embrace. “He was insane to leave you for another woman—or for any reason. But I shan't presume to state that you're better off without him.” He planted kisses on my cheeks and lips. “You make it extremely difficult to disentangle myself,” he murmured.
“Then please don't.” My breaths increased. “I want you in my bed upstairs.”
But he broke our embrace. “Tonight I must return home. But let me know when James will not be in residence, and I shall return.”
“Now with a government position dangling before him, I can tell James not to come home and he'll gladly oblige me. Come back tomorrow eve, Alex. James has another engagement.”
“Tomorrow night it shall be. Until then, adieu.” He kissed my hand, and I mustered every ounce of restraint not to throw my arms round his neck and press my lips to his, to lure him upstairs for a few stolen moments.
“Alex, will you stay, only for a drink?” I tugged on his arm. “We needn't discuss your work or politics. We can chit-chat about books or music, your pleasure.”
“No, my dear, I must do more paperwork before retiring.” He backed away.
“But you look so tired already!” I smoothed stray strands of hair that had escaped his queue.
“I know.” He stifled a yawn. “Sometimes I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. But it will make our leisure time all the sweeter. Bonsoir.”
My hand lingered in his as he stepped out the door, our gazes hard pressed to part. But he broke away and vanished. Oh, how I wanted him to unburden his weight on me! I shut the door and leant against it, catching my breath, counting the hours till we'd next meet.
I hope Mrs. Hamilton has returned to you with restored health & with the most sincere affection –Letter from Henry Lee to Alexander Hamilton, October 18th. 1791
Chapter Ten
Eliza
I entered Alex's study at teatime to see if he cared for a repast, but whom did I see sitting across from him, sipping sherry like an honored guest? James Reynolds. In true gentlemanly fashion, he stood and bowed with a flourish. I bade him good day, turned and closed the door. I prayed Alex wouldn't squander any money on a shady scheme. I knew how Reynolds's notorious ups and downs wore down his wife. But now I wondered—w
as Mrs. Reynolds mixed up in this? She seemed innocent and unassuming enough, but James was a master at persuasion. Perhaps she'd bent under his influence. I considered paying her a visit but kept my wariness to myself for the time being. If Mr. Reynolds became a regular caller here, I'd bring this to the forefront. Meanwhile, I had five children to raise and another to birth.
Maria
Alex arrived next eve after I'd given up on him. I forced myself not to pull him through the doorway as I had that first time.
“Good eve.” He brushed his lips against mine as a husband greets a wife after a day's work. It saddened me that I wasn't this wife who knew he'd always come home to me, even after a tryst.
He crooked his elbow and I slid my hand through his arm. He escorted me into the parlour. “And how went your day, my dear?” played on my lips, but I bit my tongue. I cared not to sound that much like a wife! “I missed you, Alex,” I said instead, unashamed to admit it.
“And I did you.” We sat and I poured us each a glass of wine. He sipped, but I gulped mine. Being four hours since supper, it shot straight to my head.
He shifted his body so that our thighs touched. Of course I wanted him in my bed, but I preferred to talk first. Halfway through “our” book, I was eager to show him how well I'd absorbed the subject matter. If we tarried, I knew he'd be too tired, especially at this late hour.
Tonight I intended to show him I wasn't a wanton. As our lips met, I regained my senses and pulled away. “Alex…” I found it physically painful to break that kiss. How I longed to succumb to my desires and let him escort me up to the bedroom. But this needed build up slowly. “Let us start the evening with conversation.” I placed my fingertips on his chest and gave him a nudge, but built of solid muscle, he didn't back away. He only came closer.
“Why wait? You make it difficult for me to hold back, if you want to know the truth.” His voice rumbled. His lips brushed my ear, his hot breath sending a shiver of anticipation through me. Liquid fire surged to the core of my femininity. Since we'd become lovers, I longed for his hard body pressed against mine, to lie back on the pillows, to throw back my head and cry out in ecstasy.
But I did not want to surrender so quickly—I needed to show some willpower. I backed away, giving us some breathing room.
“Why do some women prolong the agony?” He lowered his head to nibble at my neck. I buried my face in his hair.
Oh, I ached for him. My mind fought to control my body's desires. A moan rumbled in my throat as I pushed him away, disentangling our arms—and in a moment what would have been our legs. “Alex, I don't want it to be like—” came out in a breathless whisper that sounded like I was begging him to take me.
But I cleared my throat, intoxicated from closeness, unable to regain my senses. With him fully aroused and panting after me, my body won out over my brain. I'd plan more carefully next time. And not sit so close. “Very well, next time we shall take it more slowly. Now take me.”
“Of course,” he said. “We can discuss anything you want. Later. But now—pleasure before business.”
I shuddered in delight. Instinct told me it was now or never. Tonight I'd make him want to stay, to beg for more.
He eased me away, studying me in the glow of the candle in the wall sconce. His eyes, sparkling like rare gems, gazed at me. “Do you still prefer coupling here on the sofa?”
“Yes, right here,” I whispered, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice. “It will take too long to go upstairs.” We coupled on the sofa.
In the aftermath of release, we caught our breaths and rested on the plush cushions.
“Now can we talk, Alex?” With my ear against his chest, the steady thump of his heart soothed me. He twined his fingers through my hair and chuckled.
“Why do you ladies always need talk after a bit of fun? Are you not spent enough? I can barely remember my name, much less engage in chit chat.”
I lifted myself up and faced him, eye to eye. “A bit of fun is it? To me, our souls fused as one in a rapturous conjoining, akin to the bursting of fireworks all around us. And to you tis a bit of fun. That spends you so?”
“A bit of fun, my dear, is an Old English expression, dating back to the Middle Ages if not longer. But I stand corrected. It was a superfluity of fun.” He placed his hand on my bare thigh and brought it to rest atop his leg. A spark of desire awakened in me. But knowing how “spent” he was, I reined it in.
“Then I am pleased I spent you so well.” I planted kisses on his lips that grew into a mingling of our tongues, something I had never done with James. Alex's leisurely technique made lights burst beneath my closed lids as we came up for air. I felt his arousal stirring again. But not enough to repeat the act and have another “bit of fun.”
I reached over and poured a glass of wine, gulping in thirst. He drained his glass.
“Now my senses have returned.” He pushed the hair off my forehead. “My name is Alex. I think.”
“You just remember that because I shouted it out in the throes of ecstasy.” I felt so natural with him. I wished to tell him so, but held back. We had plenty of time to talk about us. I still needed to appeal to him intellectually. Thus I began with, “I want to talk about what I read today in Wealth of Nations. Tis slow reading—not exactly leisurely.”
“Ah, yes.” He settled back and stretched. “I've read it twicet. Up in the garret as not to be disturbed. I can only guess that Smith wrote it that way, too. What did you want to talk about? Laissez-faire? Divisions of labor?”
“No. Asses,” I stated.
His eyes grew wide and he blinked. “Asses?”
“Yes, he wasn't trying to be humorous, but he tickled my funny bone.”
“I must have missed that part.” His eyes slid shut as he smiled.
“The Romans had only copper money until 270 B.C., according to Smith,” I explained. “Then they began to coin silver.”
“That is correct, copper was their measure of value.” He nodded. “Now I know what you're talking about. The 'As' was the denomination of a copper coin.”
“Yes, and the plural of 'As' was 'Asses.' So they traded 'Asses' for goods all day.” Wanting to go beyond tipsy to silly, I reached over and poured another glass. It spilled over, onto his bare chest. “Oops!” Squealing with delight, I lapped it up as a kitten with a bowl of cream.
He moaned with pleasure. “So what was it about copper Asses you found so intriguing?” he asked me.
“Just picturing Romans exchanging Asses all day, it struck me as funny, among all that pedantry.” I smoothed his hair back.
“And a bit of it was a piece of Ass,” he cracked.
I laughed at that.
As he emptied the wine bottle into my glass, he said, “A man meets an acquaintance and says, 'I was told you were dead.' He replies, 'Well, you can see I am still alive.' But the first man disputes this on the grounds that 'the man who told me you were dead is much more reliable than you.' ”
That made me smile. “Clever,” I said. “Where did you hear that? John Adams?”
“Close,” Alex replied. “Tis from Ancient Rome. Apparently they told jokes whilst exchanging Asses. And during and after coupling, I assure you.”
I kissed the length of his body, swimming in delightful lightheadedness from the wine, the aftermath of our loving, and him. “I shall finish the book by week's end. And I shall quiz you on it.”
“Fair enough.” He fell asleep, his breathing slow and steady. I didn't want to wake him, yet I craved his company—and wanted to talk more, about every subject from politics to music to birds. I nudged him and he jolted awake, apologizing. “What is the time?” he asked.
“I care not.” I petted him, unable to keep my hands off him. “James isn't coming home. I want you with me right here on the sofa, at least until daybreak.”
But he began to sit up. I grabbed my petticoat off the floor and covered my lower half.
He stood, pulling on his stockings.
“Whe
re are you going?” My voice cracked, shattered with disappointment. Don't leave me now, I wanted to beg, but that wouldn't make him stay.
“I've a long day ahead of me. I must go. But we'll be together again soon. By the bye—do you need any more money?” he tossed out the offer as he buttoned his shirt and searched for his shoes.
“No, I do not.” I resented the offer this time. “Alex, I do not care to appear a courtesan, taking money after every tryst.”
Slipping into his shoes, he looked down at me, brows raised. “I do not see you that way at all, dear. I just want to help, until James starts the treasury position.”
“I do not need additional funds,” I informed him. “But thank you for your generosity. James wangled—er, procured employment with Josiah Bank, the goldsmith. He's busy with commissions. But this treasury position would be his salvation, I pray.”
“I know you want to save him.” He pulled on his frock coat. “And he may not be beyond redemption. Only time will tell.” Buttoning his coat, he cast a liquorish look at my breasts, bared and vulnerable.
Seeing me flushed from the ecstasy we'd shared, why hadn't he begged for more? But his face hardened into a mask of seriousness. “Maria, you will be careful if venturing out after dark, you must promise me this.”
“I am a woman, Alex.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “It is in my nature to be careful if I am out and about alone in the dark.”
“But I cannot stress the importance of extra vigilance at present. You must have heard of the recent murders.” He buttoned his coat.
A chill struck me cold. “I know. Word of those gruesome murders has been spreading like plague, and not just close to where they happened. There cannot be a living soul who hasn't heard of them.”
“Then I implore you to be extra vigilant if you must leave the house alone at night. Only today I spoke with the commissioner. Extra constables are being assigned to the streets at night in an attempt to capture the fiend who is terrorizing our women.”
“Surely,” I said, “the killer will be deterred by these additional officers of the law.”